


A Spanner in the Works

by kidsinlove



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 10 years post-war, Angst and Feels, Author Draco Malfoy, Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy has a Literature Degree, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco Malfoy only wears muggle clothes, Draco Malfoy renounces magic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ex-Auror Harry Potter, Feels, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Has PTSD, Harry Potter Thinks Draco Malfoy is Up to Something, Harry Potter thinks Draco Malfoy is beautiful, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts Professors, Hufflepuff Neville Longbottom, Insomnia, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Muggle Studies, Non-magical Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Harry Potter, POV Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Professor Draco Malfoy, Professor Neville Longbottom, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, Snowball Fight, Soulmate bound, Soulmates, Study Group
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29510484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kidsinlove/pseuds/kidsinlove
Summary: Ten years after the war and a failed career as an Auror, Harry had settled into his life as the DADA Professor at Hogwarts, alongside childhood friends Neville and Hagrid. His life is pretty stock-standard until Draco Malfoy is hired as the new Muggle Studies Professor after renouncing magic and living as a Muggle in France for the better part of a decade. Through late night run-ins and snowball fights, Harry finds himself wanting to get to know the new Malfoy, his reasons for leaving magic behind, and how he can get it back.ORThe one where Draco Malfoy - who renounced magic after the war, a procedure which can only be reversed by a soulmate bond - is the new Muggle Studies Professor and Harry Potter is confused in more ways than one.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter & George Weasley, Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom & Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom & Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom & Rubeus Hagrid & Harry Potter, Rubeus Hagrid & Harry Potter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 59





	1. Prologue: 1998-2008

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Second fic I've posted - thanks for reading :)
> 
> Update: I wasn't super happy with where I took things with chapter 8 so I took a lil break, but I'm back! Chapter 9 is in the works :) just gunna roll with it now. Have another fic coming v soon, too, so if you vibe with my writing then check it out :)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Feedback welcome!
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters etc belong to J.K Rowling but we have fundamental political differences

_The Aftermath for Harry Potter_

The day after the war, Kingsley Shacklebolt was named Minister for Magic and the Ministry began to rebuild itself. That same day, the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix met to count their losses. Harry had marched straight up to Shacklebolt and told him that he was going to be an Auror, starting now, thank you very much. The entire Order had refused, citing that it was irresponsible and unreasonable for Harry to throw himself into battle when a war had just been won. Harry hadn't known what to do with that. He was furious at everything and nothing in particular. He spent the rest of that day tearing apart 12 Grimmauld Place by hand, since Hermione had confiscated his wand for good measure. Ron helped - he was angry, too, evidently. No one tried to stop them. They ended up falling asleep in the hallway, sobbing and holding each other.

For ten days after that, Harry did nothing outside of screaming and crying and sleeping in Ron's bed at the Burrow, clutching his invisibility cloak and the sliver of mirror Sirius had gifted him. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be back in the cupboard under the stairs, ten years old and oblivious to the atrocities he would live through. Occasionally, Ron or Hermione or Ginny would curl up next to him and cry, too. Every two or three days, Harry would go downstairs to eat. Molly would hug him as if she was terrified of letting go.

On day eleven, Harry couldn't cry anymore. He showered for the first time in a long time. Hermione had been casting cleaning spells over him every morning, but he couldn’t remember the last time he bathed. He spent the rest of the day flying with George, who kept saying he was just going to go for a quick fly with Fred. Harry was worried George was slipping into madness.

Harry joined Ron and Hermione's efforts to locate Hermione's parents. The trio travelled to Australia via muggle routes. They found the Grangers in a week, and the next week was spent in and out of St Mungos as their memories were restored. Harry, Ron and Hermione stayed with the Grangers in Southeast England for a month to plan their future.

Two months had passed since the war, and the three of them were asked to testify at Death Eater trials. Shacklebolt had said that their testimonies would swing the verdict. The three of them testified in favour of life sentences in Azkaban at the Carrows, Dolohov, Rookwood and Macnair trials. Hermione and Harry testified in favour of an Azkaban life sentence for Lucius Malfoy, and against imprisonment for Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. Ron declined to speak at the Malfoy trials. Three days later, Harry sent Draco his wand back without a note. He never received a response.

Six months after the war, Ron and Hermione moved into a cottage near the Burrow in Devon. Harry moved in with George above Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Together with Ron, they reopened the shop and erected a statue in Fred's memory.

A year later, Harry and Ron applied through traditional avenues to become Aurors and were accepted on the condition that they not work any suspected Death Eater cases in the beginning. Hermione was already working at the Ministry as the head of the newly developed Post-War Reconciliation Office, after going back to Hogwarts to complete her NEWTs.

Harry stayed with the Aurors for four years and worked at George's shop most weekends. During that time, George moved in with Angelina Johnson, so Harry moved to Grimmauld Place. Molly and Arthur had repaired and renovated it for him with help from the Order after his outburst. It never felt like home.

When Harry couldn't bring himself to fight anymore with the Aurors, he went back to Hogwarts and completed his stuides. By then, it had been almost eight years since the war. Harry was accepted for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts.

By 2008, Harry had settled into the normalcy of his Post-War life.

*

_The aftermath for Draco Malfoy_

The day of the war, Draco and his parents were taken into custody. They were held with the Carrows, who believed them to be cowards and treated them as blood traitors. They were underfed and subjected to dementor attacks.

Two months passed and Draco had almost forgotten what it felt like to be a human being. He was dragged to his trial, enchanted chains binding his body, and placed in a cage in the centre of the room. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger testified in his favour. The familiarity of their voices made Draco weep with relief.

Two days later, after extensive Ministry deliberation, Draco and his mother were released from custody. His father was sent to Azkaban. Most of their possessions in England were confiscated and Malfoy Manor had been brutally vandalised, so they relocated to their home in the South of France.

The day after the move, Draco received his wand back from Harry, without a note. He snapped it and threw it into the Loire.

Two months later, Draco told his mother that he was renouncing magic. She wept. Draco returned to England via muggle transport. He put flowers on Vincent Crabbe's grave. He was punched in the face by a stranger at the cemetery who had called him Death Eater scum. Draco believed him – he didn’t fight back. He stayed with his best friend, Pansy Parkinson. He didn’t leave her house for a month.

Draco eventually relocated to a sharehouse in wizarding Marseille to be closer to his mother. Despite renouncing magic, he felt that he was not prepared to live with muggles, so he lived with a group of young wizards. He used what remained of his inheritance to study muggle literature.

By 2006, Draco was a best-selling author of muggle children’s fiction, living in Muggle France. In truth, he mostly wrote about magic, because he had learned that muggles loved the idea of magic even though many didn't believe in it. His novels were published under a different name.

In 2008, Draco received a letter from his old teacher, Minerva McGonagall, offering him a job.


	2. Disruption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Minor scene of Harry Potter using therapeutic techniques to combat symptoms of PTSD

"Quiet! The sorting ceremony is about to commence." McGonagall announced to the occupants of the Great Hall. Harry was sat in his regular chair at the teachers table behind her. He absently chewed on a dinner roll as he played wizards chess with Neville Longbottom, who'd become the Herbology professor the same year Harry had returned to Hogwarts to finish his NEWTs. 

The students quieted down and turned their attention to McGonagall. She was as grey and formidable as ever. The sorting ceremony droned on as usual and Harry made mental notes of all the first years that were sorted into Gryffindor - he would be their head of house, after all. 

When the sorting hat was finished, McGonagall commenced her start of term announcements.

"Finally," Neville whispered as he moved his chess piece, "I've been waiting to hear who our new muggle studies professor is." 

"Oh yeah," Harry murmured between chews, "forgot about that." He looked around at the teachers table - no new faces. "Weird they didn’t come tonight.”

Neville shrugged and quickly grabbed his pawn before Harry’s could smash it.

"... And it is with great pleasure that I announce the new muggle studies professor." McGonagall said. Harry and Neville returned their attention to her as she continued. "This wizard has lived as a muggle in France for a number of years. Like you all, he attended Hogwarts as a child. He was unable to join us tonight but, regardless, I would like to announce his recruitment to Hogwarts’ excellent teaching team. Please give a round of applause for Professor Draco Malfoy, the new head of Slytherin house." 

Harry choked on his food. Neville hit him swiftly across the back, accidentally knocking one of the chess pieces in his hast. The knight swung violently, smashing Harry's castle with such vigour that it echoed across the hall, silencing the students. McGonagall turned to face Neville and a very red-faced, choking Harry in horror. 

"What in Merlin's name are the two of you doing?" She cried. She spotted the chess board and shot them a disapproving look. 

"Sorry." Harry choked out, finally swallowing the lodged food. Students could be heard giggling and murmuring amongst themselves. McGonagall returned her attention to the hall after a final, warning glance in Harry's direction, and continued her announcements. 

*

"Draco Malfoy, Harry, can you believe it?" Neville said. Harry couldn’t believe it. Neville was trying to keep up with his quick steps as he hurried to McGonagall's office. The feast was over and they had settled the first years into their dormitories. All the while, Harry had been mentally preparing himself for the argument of his life with McGonagall. Who did she think she was, hiring Draco Malfoy of all people to teach _muggle studies?_ Granted, Harry hadn't seen or even heard about the man in years, but surely _any other person_ would be better suited to teach muggle studies than an ex-blood supremacist. 

"Bertie Botts!" Harry shouted the password at the entranceway to the headmistress' office. He turned and looked at Neville, "Nev, I'll catch you later, yeah? I'll let you know how it goes". Neville nodded and stepped back, understanding that this was a bone Harry needed to pick alone. 

Harry fidgeted restlessly as he waited for the old, brick stairs to slide into place. He threw open the door without knocking – earning him some disgruntled murmurs from the unsuspecting portraits on the wall - and began marching through the office.

"Draco Malfoy as a muggle studies professor?" He called incredulously. He rounded the corner to McGonagall’s desk and froze instantly, his breath catching in his throat. There, standing beside McGonagall with a piece of parchment and quill in his hand, was the very man in question. Malfoy looked stunned, grey eyes widened in what Harry could only assume was shock and pale skin flushed slightly. His mouth was hanging open as though he'd just seen a poltergeist. Honestly, Harry felt the same way. Malfoy seemed to catch his composure before Harry, straightening suddenly and pulling his face into a cool, neutral expression. 

"Potter." He said smoothly. His voice felt like a punch to Harry's stomach. It was deeper and cooler than the voice of Malfoy in Harry's memories. He studied the man before him. He looked… well, the only word that came to Harry’s mind was beautiful, and he could have kicked himself for it. Malfoy was tall and lean with muscle, looking markedly healthier than he had the last time Harry had seen him, chained and starved on the floor in the Department of Mysteries at his trial. He was dressed in an expensive looking muggle suit, a Slytherin-green silk shirt and silver tie tucked neatly into dark grey slacks. He wore a black, leather-band watch on his right wrist and matching leather shoes. His platinum, shoulder length hair was tucked easily behind his ear from which a small, elegant black hoop earring hung. Harry spluttered. 

"Please, don't stop on my account." Malfoy said, motioning gracefully to one of the chairs in front of McGonagall's desk. For reasons Harry could not even comprehend, he found himself moving to the chair like a child who had just been told to go and stand in the naughty corner. 

Harry sat down haughtily and pulled himself together, staring daggers at McGonagall. The portrait of Dumbledore was chuckling behind her.

"For Heaven’s sake, Potter. I won't tolerate any nonsense from you or Longbottom about this. The war came to an end a decade ago and this school will not stand for prejudice. Mr. Malfoy has an exceptional resume and I assure you, I would not have hired him if I didn't think him appropriate to do the job." She snapped. She angrily pushed her biscuit tin in Harry’s direction. He snatched a biscuit, mostly to give his hands something to do, and sulked. 

"I don’t understand. We don't even know what he's been up to these last 10 years." Harry protested, leaning forward and speaking quietly as though Malfoy couldn’t hear every word anyway. He tried to ignore the weight he felt under Malfoy’s gaze. He felt betrayed by McGonagall – he’d gotten so used to his life after the war and the re-emergence of Draco Malfoy had really thrown a spanner in the works. The very thought of wondering the halls of Hogwarts alongside Malfoy again brought back memories of their years leading up to the war.

"I've been living as a muggle in France. I have a literature degree and three bestselling fiction novels." Malfoy offered, his voice void of emotion. Harry's mouth fell open again in shock. McGonagall looked between them uncertainly.

“Well… er… I…” Harry started, and then huffed. Overwhelmed by the both of them, he stormed from the office and retreated to his private quarters. 

*

"Fiction novels?!" Ron cried incredulously as Harry recounted the story to him and Hermione over a floo call later that night. "like actual, _muggle_ books?" 

"Yes." Harry confirmed, rubbing his face in exasperation. 

"Harry, it's been ten years." Hermione's bushy curls popped up in the fireplace, earning her a grunt from Ron as he shuffled to the side. “He could have done any number of amazing things in that time. If he really is a muggle author, he’s an excellent choice to teach muggle studies."

“’Mione, it’s _Malfoy_ we’re talking about here. He could write an entire library and it wouldn’t make him any less of a git.” Ron argued, pushing back Hermione’s hair to fit in view. Hermione looked disgruntled.

“Look, all I’m saying is that you give him a _chance._ Think about how different the three of us are now from who we were during the war. Malfoy’s probably changed, too. You did say he was wearing a muggle suit – would the Malfoy we knew ever be caught dead in muggle clothes?” Hermione raised her eyebrows expectantly. She did have a point.

Harry's irritated internal ramblings about Malfoy were interrupted by an owl pecking insistently on his window. “Gotta go.” He said, grateful for an excuse to leave the call. With a quick “love you” he charmed out the flames. Harry moved to the window, the owls’ pecking growing impatient, and let the bird in. It heaved a package into the room and dropped it onto his bed. Harry picked up the note. 

_Potter,_

_In case you're interested, these are the novels I've written. Consider this the first and only olive branch._

_D. Malfoy_

Harry re-read the note a few times to be certain he had read it correctly. Who _was_ this man? The whole thing made him itch. He was so annoyingly _curious_ about Malfoy’s life as a muggle, why he ended up living that way in the first place, and what he’d been up to besides writing fucking books. Harry had tried owling Malfoy once, a few years after the war. The letter had been returned to him a week later – the owl hadn’t been able to find him. He knew the Malfoys had moved away from the Manor in the early days, but he had no idea where they went. He couldn’t imagine Narcissa Malfoy living amongst muggles. Had Malfoy moved out on his own, then?

He wondered if Malfoy was still in touch with Lucius. This quickly spiralled into thoughts of all the death eaters that were rotting in Azkaban because of Harry’s testimonies and the memories of the horrible trials he’d spoken at. He hated thinking about… about any of it.

Harry moved to the little bathroom in his Hogwarts quarters. It was an old, modest brick room with light slate floors. All of the commodities were an unsettling shade of pink. Ginny had given Harry a Holyhead Harpies bathmat for Christmas – the little Quidditch players endlessly chased a snitch around the outskirts of the mat. When Harry stood on it, the crowd in the background cheered. He turned on the rickety, old faucet and splashed his face with water. He studied himself in the grimy mirror above it.

Dark skin, black hair, green eyes, white scar, solid. Dark skin, black hair, green eyes, white scar, solid. He recounted all of the things he knew for certain about himself. He had seen a mind healer for a few years who had taught him how to come back to himself when he felt lost. Whenever he thought too much about the war, the trials, Voldemort, the grief… any of it, really, he spiralled. Sometimes he felt like he was still at Kings Cross with Dumbledore or in the Forbidden Forest with the ghosts of his parents. He shook his head. Dark skin, black hair, green eyes, white scar, solid.

Back in his room, Harry read the note again and eyed the package suspiciously. He made the executive decision to avoid all things Malfoy to save himself from a repeat of sixth year. Hermione would be proud, honestly. He shoved the package into the bottom of his trunk and tried not to think about it in his struggle to fall asleep.


	3. Study Club

Evidently, avoiding Malfoy was suspiciously easy for Harry. He had been at the school for almost a month and Harry had only seen him from across a hallway or atop a staircase, never directly running into the man. Malfoy apparently ate elsewhere, too, because he was seldom seen anywhere near the great hall.

Harry, despite his best efforts to refrain from all things Malfoy, had been consulting with Neville and Hagrid on the subject. He learned that Malfoy mostly kept to himself, teaching classes during the day and running study groups for eager students in the evenings. It almost _bothered_ Harry. Was Malfoy avoiding him, too? Whatever was going on, Harry didn’t like it.

Harry ate dinner quicker than usual and skipped his weekly floo call with Ron and Hermione. He had a stack of parchments about the properties and uses of the expelliarmus charm that needed grading and he was feeling more irritable than usual. He headed to the library and plopped himself into a desk in the back, spreading the papers across his table. Barely two inches of parchment into his grading, Harry was interrupted by hushed conversations from a few rows down. Harry, unable to help his inner Auror sleuth and general nosiness, stood and moved quietly among the bookshelves until he could hear the conversation. Through the books, Harry could see a group of about twelve students, all different ages and houses, gathered around a circular table, pouring over textbooks. Some of the older students were helping the younger with essays. Malfoy was moving easily between them, peering over their shoulders and pointing things out for them to amend. He was wearing a loose, tan-coloured linen shirt and dark jeans. Muggle clothes again, then. Harry almost rolled his eyes.

“Professor Malfoy,” a first year Hufflepuff girl – Lena Lowe – spoke up “can you help me with this charm?”

Charms? Was Malfoy helping the students with all of their subjects?

A tap on Harry’s shoulder interrupted his thoughts. “Professor Potter! So glad you could come to Study Club. I really need help with my essay about stigma against werewolves in magical law enforcement.” Peter Kine, a third year Ravenclaw student, said rather loudly. He looked up expectantly at Harry through square glasses. “Uh…” Harry stuttered.

“Ah, Professor Potter. If you aren’t too busy snooping behind bookshelves, join us - your expertise will surely be useful.” Malfoy called slyly. Harry heard some of the students’ snicker. He felt his cheeks heat traitorously.

He followed Peter out from around the bookshelf and found himself standing face-to-face with Malfoy. “Malfoy...” He greeted cautiously. He was suddenly aware that this was the first time he’d spoken directly to Malfoy since... well, probably since the war. Malfoy folded his arms easily across his chest and raised a quizzical eyebrow. His face was cool and unreadable, grey eyes peering into Harry’s face.

Harry moved awkwardly to a seat next to Peter, deciding the best course of action was pretending this was planned. He was painfully aware of Malfoy watching him walk away. Harry busied himself reading over Peter’s parchment until the quiet chatter resumed and Malfoy continued to work with Lena on her levitating charm.

Harry half listened to Peter ramble on about his thoughts about werewolves and half watched Malfoy coach Lena through the spell. Harry noticed for the first time that Malfoy wasn’t using a wand – he was demonstrating the motion by hand for Lena to copy.

“Wandless magic now, aye?” Harry asked, apparently not able to help himself. Malfoy side-eyed him. Harry noticed a slight flush against the other man’s pale cheeks.

“Actually, Potter, I don’t use magic, wand or otherwise.” He replied nonchalantly, as though this was a simple fact of no consequence.

“What-“ Harry was cut off when Peter nudged him, pulling his attention away from the man.

“Professor Potter, _everyone_ knows Professor Malfoy stopped using magic years ago for personal reasons. Now, more importantly, I really think you should read what I’ve written here in this last inch. I did some research – restricted section, McGonagall approved – and found some quite interesting information about the history of Ministry responses to unregistered werewolves.” Peter explained. Harry gently reminded him that only ten inches of parchment were assigned for the essay, so extra research wasn’t necessary. Harry was fond of Peter, although he could be a bit of know-it-all. He reminded Harry of Hermione at his age.

By the time Harry was finished reading over Peter’s parchment and chatting with him about some of the intricacies of wolfsbane, most of the students had packed up for the night. “There you go, Peter. Try to cut it down a bit before it’s due, yeah? I’ll see you in class on Thursday.” He smiled encouragingly at Peter as the boy neatly packed away his belongings and said goodbye.

When Harry looked up, Malfoy was sitting cross-legged in an armchair, reading over parchment and sipping tea.

“You don’t use magic anymore?” Harry didn’t try to hide his scepticism.

“Don’t you have papers to mark, Potter?” Malfoy rebuked without looking up. Harry cursed under his breath, having forgotten all about the stack of parchments waiting a few aisles down. He hurriedly went back to his desk and gathered them. In his hast, he spilt an ink pot. Swearing, he cast several cleaning charms.

By the time he returned to the round table, Malfoy had gone.

*

The following afternoon, after being berated by numerous second years for his tardiness on returning their essays to them, Harry trudged through the cold to Hagrid’s hut. He found the man sitting by the Black Lake while several thestrals drank from the water.

“’ello, Harry!” Hagrid called, standing up and dusting himself off. “I’m glad you came for tea today. Got somethin’ to show ya.” Hagrid said, leading the way back to his hut. Harry’s stomach twisted. Memories of all the whacky and wild creatures Hagrid had introduced Harry to over the years swarmed his mind.

“Not something that can eat me, I hope.” Harry joked.

“Oh, no, no. Not yet, anyway!” Hagrid smiled reassuringly. It wasn’t at all reassuring.

Hagrid led Harry out to the pumpkin patch in his backyard. “Look, Harry! Maxime sent me some Abraxans of me very own! Aren’t they beautiful?” He beamed and motioned to a large, straw nest in the centre of the yard. Harry stepped closer. A group of small, winged horses slept happily there, all palomino and white fur.

“They are.” Harry chuckled. He leant forward and pat one of the little creatures on the head – it sighed and leant into his hand.

The two of them sat beside the nest for what felt like a long time. Harry listened to Hagrid talk about his Care of Magical Creatures classes and some of the things Neville was growing in the greenhouses. Harry waited for an opportune moment to ask about Malfoy and took it when Hagrid fell silent after a longwinded story about flitterby moths.

“Hagrid… Malfoy mentioned to me that he doesn’t use magic anymore.” He began.

“Oh, yeah. Sad business, that. Sad business indeed. He was just a kid Harry – like you and Ron and 'ermione. He was born on the wrong side, that’s all. The poor lad.” Hagrid shook his head gravely.

“But Malfoy’s always been so self-righteous and… well, _pro_ magic. It doesn’t make sense that he’d stop using it. I didn’t even know that was possible for a magical person. Did someone take it from him or something?”

“Oh, no, Harry. Can’t take someone’s magic like that. Witches and wizards can make a conscious decision to renounce magic, though. Remove their magical core, they do. Doesn’t ‘appen very often – occasionally wizard parents who give birth to a squib do it, or magical people that fall in love with muggles. Bit of a process, it is. Has to be approved by the Minister 'imself, then you undergo a bunch of spells. Painful business, that, Harry, to have your magical core removed. It doesn’t work to just say you renounce it, you see – the magical core will always fight back unless it’s removed, and the wizard gettin’ it removed has to make the decision to relinquish it.”

Harry grimaced. Malfoy had chosen to relinquish his magical core. “Why?”

“Couldn’t say, Harry. Guilt ‘bout the war and all that nasty business I s’pose.”

Harry thanked Hagrid for his candour and reluctantly took one of his rock cakes for the road. He tossed and caught it as he walked slowly back to the castle, thinking. Guilt rippled through his stomach – he’d been unnecessarily rude to Malfoy that first day when he started. The man had saved Harry’s life after all – twice, as Harry recalled. He’d call it even, except he figured the Sectumsempra incident cancelled out the fiendfyre thing. Harry shuddered at the thought. He tried to shake the memories.

*

That night, Harry gave up on trying to sleep. After catching up with his grading, he headed for the third-floor corridor – it wasn’t out-of-bounds anymore, of course, but it was seldom-used. He’d taken to it for late-night strolls back when he first started teaching. There was a window in the far corner with a view of the Black Lake and Hogwarts grounds. Sometimes, the moon reflected off the surface of the water, making lights dance around the lake. Harry often sat there when insomnia got the better of him.

Halfway down the hall, Harry came to a halt. There, in _his window seat_ , was the pale figure of Malfoy, silhouette lit by the moonlight outside. Harry observed him for a moment.

“It isn’t polite to stare, Potter.” Malfoy spoke. Harry jumped and blushed furiously, feeling caught. He stepped closer, edging into the moonlight. Malfoy looked up at him, eyes shiny.

“How’d you know it was me?” Harry asked. He wasn’t sure if he should stay where he was or sit on the opposite end of the large windowsill. When Malfoy shuffled over slightly, Harry took it as an invitation, and awkwardly took a seat. He swung his legs so that they were dangling from the window and stared ahead.

“Lucky guess.” Malfoy said quietly. Through Harry’s peripheral vision, he could see Malfoy watching him cautiously. He felt heavy under his gaze.

After a long silence, Harry spoke. “Malfoy, I just wanted to say that I-“

“Potter, please, spare us both the apology. I can’t handle a Gryffindor bleeding heart tonight.” Malfoy cut in. It reminded Harry of the Malfoy he once knew.

“Actually, I was going to say you owe _me_ an apology.” Harry joked. Malfoy huffed, but his gaze didn’t falter.

“You aren’t wrong.” He said, after a moment. Harry looked at him then. That wasn’t the response he’d been expected.

“Why’d you renounce magic?” Harry asked, cutting to the chase. The man’s eyes widened slightly, only for a second. He shrugged exaggeratedly and sighed, breaking eye contact.

When it became apparent that Malfoy wasn’t going to answer, Harry tried again. “Why’d you come back to Hogwarts, then?”

“Believe it or not, I was offered a job, Potter.” He drawled, raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to take it.” Harry realised this was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words left his mouth. He wanted to kick himself as Malfoy slumped slightly, running a hand through his silvery hair.

After a pause, Malfoy spoke again. “My life wasn’t really going anywhere.” It was probably the sincerest thing Harry had ever heard him say.

“I get that.” Harry said. And he did – he’d felt the same way when he worked for the Aurors.

“Ah, yes. The Saviour Leaves Ministry in Despair.” Malfoy motioned grandly with his hand. Harry remembered that particular remark as the title of a very incorrect recount of him leaving the DMLE, written by Skeeter.

“You kept up with the papers, then, while you lived as a muggle?” Harry asked. Harry noticed Malfoy’s cheeks heat slightly. The man didn’t take his eyes off of the view in front of him.

“Some.”

Harry stared at him for a moment longer. He noticed how shiny Malfoy’s hair looked, sweeping slightly across his face in the breeze. He looked away again, swinging his feet.

“Potter, if you don’t want me here…” Malfoy began.

“No.” Harry interrupted. “It’s not that I… no. Malfoy, it isn’t that. You’re great with the students. All the Gryffindor’s that have you for muggle studies rave about your classes. And it isn’t that _I_ don’t want you here, it’s just…” Harry ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know how to talk to you, that’s all. I don’t think there’s anything I can say to make it right, or whatever.”

Malfoy laughed then and Harry looked at him in disbelief. “Please, Potter. You don’t owe me anything. I know you must just _agonise_ over me at night but I assure you, I forgave you a long time ago.” Harry blushed at the truth in Malfoy's words.

“Well, I’ve forgiven you, too. Not that there was really anything to forgive. We were kids and all, and you didn’t really have… Anyway, yeah. Thanks.”

Malfoy watched him cautiously, and then extended his hand, searching Harry's face. “Let’s start again. I’m Draco, nice to meet you.”

Harry looked at him in surprise and couldn't help his smile. He grabbed Malfoy's outstretched hand and shook it. “Harry Potter.”


	4. Fiction and Snowball Fights

Harry started attending Malfoy’s Study Club some days. It was a good opportunity for him to work with some of the older students on their defensive magic and help them prepare for their O.W.Ls. He ran into Malfoy sometimes at night, too. He found out that Malfoy had similar problems with sleep, but when Harry asked about it, he always dodged the question. All in all, though, he and Malfoy had become almost amicable. They even greeted each other in the hallways. Malfoy still didn’t eat in the Great Hall, though, which was a mystery to Harry.

The 10th of October rolled around quickly, as it usually did, and it was time for the Head of House review. They had one every six weeks to talk about their houses.

Harry showered and dressed in his most professional teaching robes, effectively hiding his casual black, long sleeved tee, blue jeans and sneakers. He tried unsuccessfully to tame his unruly dark hair. Casting a quick tempus charm, Harry pinned his Gryffindor badge on his chest and hurriedly made his way to the Great Hall for dinner. He sat beside Neville, who was dressed smartly in similar robes with his Hufflepuff pin on display.

“You’ve got dirt on your face, mate.” Harry said as he sat beside the man. Neville grumbled and wiped at his forehead. The two of them ate together and compared notes about their respective houses before making their way to McGonagall’s office.

Said office had been re-arranged for the meeting and a large, mahogany table with five seats sat in the centre of the room. McGonagall was chatting with Malfoy, who was wearing a well-fitting, deep green blazer over a silk, silver shirt. His Slytherin pin gleamed against his chest. His hair was slicked back and his usual small, black hooped earring had been removed. He looked polished and elegant.

Neville nudged Harry. He realised he’d been staring and hurriedly took the seat next to Malfoy, his cheeks heating. They waited for a few moments before Madam Hooch entered and took her seat as Ravenclaw Head of House, having replaced Flitwick who retired a while back. She was still in her referee robes – she'd given up on trying to impress McGonagall at these meetings years ago.

“Right.” McGonagall started, standing and turning to the blackboard behind her. With a flick of her wand, the House points and demerits displayed on the board.

The meeting went into overtime as the five of them discussed student progress, upcoming Quidditch matches and house points. Harry and Neville received their usual share of McGonagall’s mild disapproval, while Malfoy was commended for his extra efforts with Study Club. When it was finally over, Harry and Neville met outside the entranceway.

“Glad that’s over for another 6 weeks.” Harry said, removing his robe and pulling a hoodie over his tee. Neville nodded. Malfoy stepped out of the entranceway and almost ran into Harry.

“Weren’t you ever taught that it's impolite to stand in doorways?” Malfoy huffed, straightening his tie in a way that made his muscles flex through his silver shirt, his blazer swung easily over his arm. 

“Hey, Malfoy, d’you want to come to Hogsmeade with us for a drink?” Neville asked cautiously. It was customary for Harry and Neville to recoup at The Three Broomsticks after their meetings with McGonagall. Malfoy looked at Harry briefly, and then studied Neville.

“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you for the invitation.” Malfoy smiled. Harry breathed, realised he’d been holding his breath.

The three of them trudged through the snow to the Broomsticks and chatted about their classes. Malfoy spoke about his new curriculum for first years to acclimatise those with muggle parents to life with magic. It surprised Harry how passionate Malfoy was about it. When he spoke, his eyes lit up. Harry was enraptured by his every word. 

“Can’t remember the last time I read a muggle book,” Neville admitted as the three of them slid into a booth at the Broomsticks. “What’s the one your students are reading, now?”

“It’s a classic fairy tale,” Malfoy explained, taking off his blazer and folding it neatly. “It’s about a young man who has magic, but only with the help of a fairy. He doesn’t age and he befriends a muggle girl and takes her and her siblings away to…”

“Neverland.” Harry finished.

“You know it?” Malfoy asked with barely-concealed surprise, eyes wide.

“I read it as a child. It was one of the only books I had – got given to me by my neighbour. I used to imagine soaring through the sky and fighting pirates.” Harry shrugged.

“And now you’ve done that, Harry!” Neville laughed. “Best on a broom when we were at school, except maybe Ginny.”

“I take personal offense to that comment, Longbottom.” Malfoy said, humour in his eyes. He sipped his firewhiskey prudently.

The three of them talked and joked and drank for hours until Neville yawned and excused himself. Harry looked down at his half-finished drink and wondered whether he should leave, too.

“You two kick on!” Neville said, visibly tipsy. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He swung on his coat and sauntered out of the pub. It was quiet, now.

Harry looked across at Malfoy, who also had half a glass left. Malfoy raised his eyebrows at Harry and then, in a quick movement, downed the rest of the fire whiskey with a grimace. “Keep up, Potter.” He winked and stood. Harry followed suit, quickly finishing his beer. He stepped out into the cold with Malfoy. Harry fell into step beside him, hands in his pockets, and they walked in silence.

“Never took you for a fairy tale reader.” Malfoy observed.

“Never took you for one, either.” Harry rebuked.

“I take it the neighbour who gifted it to you was Dumbledore’s spy?” Malfoy queried.

“How’d you know about that?” Harry looked at him. Malfoy’s cheeks flushed.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Potter.” Malfoy jeered, “Everyone knows.” At Harry’s confused expression, he only grinned slyly.

It took Harry a while to realise they were walking a different way than the way they’d came. “Where are we going?”

“An old treehouse.” Malfoy said.

Harry was surprised when Malfoy came to a halt at the cracked, cobblestone path that lead to the Shrieking Shack. Malfoy leant against the decrepit fence and sighed. Harry stood beside him and looked around warily. 

“I haven’t been here in years.” Malfoy said. “Crabbe and Goyle and I figured out how to get to this place from Hogwarts in third year. We used to come here sometimes, for mischief and such.”

“I met Sirius here for the first time.” Harry said honestly, staring up at the boarded windows of the second floor. Malfoy’s head snapped up.

“Fuck, Potter, I’m sorry.” He ran his hand through his hair anxiously.

“No, it’s fine. I just haven’t seen this place since… well, not since the Battle.”

Malfoy was looking at him curiously. They stood in silence for a while, and then Harry laughed, a sudden memory coming to mind.

“Hey, d’you remember that time I threw snowballs at you out here, back in fourth year?” He chuckled.

Malfoy thought for a moment, then his eyes widened. “That was _you_?! Potter! You scared the life out of us. I was beginning to think this place may actually be the most haunted building in Britain.”

Harry laughed and Malfoy shook his head. Then Malfoy bent down and begun rummaging in the snow.

“What’re you doing?” Harry asked.

“Fairs fair, Potter. En garde!” He stood suddenly and flung a snowball at Harry, who was already moving away. He dodged it marginally.

“Hey! I’m an unarmed man, Malfoy.” He laughed. “But you forget, I'm also a trained Auror.” Harry had a snowball in his hand before Malfoy could respond and swung it. It hit its mark, square in the chest.

“I’ll have you know, Potter, that this is a very expensive shirt you’re soiling. You’ve just declared a war.”

Harry grinned, and turned to run. Malfoy was close behind him, stopping only briefly to collect snow off of tree branches. He was a poor marksman, evidently, and missed. Harry only laughed harder. But when he turned around, guard down, he was too late. A pile of snow hit him straight in the face and he stumbled, falling clumsily onto his back. Malfoy toppled over on top of him and Harry groaned, pained by the sudden impact.

“Fuck, sorry!” Malfoy exclaimed, but he was laughing. He rolled off of Harry and laid beside him in the snow. They both chuckled in disbelief. Harry never would have imagined a snowball fight with _Malfoy_ all these years later. 

“That expensive muggle suit is probably fucked now.” Harry observed after a moment. 

“Worse things have happened.” Malfoy turned his head to face Harry. Harry turned, too. Flecks of snow clung to Malfoy’s eyelashes. His lips were flushed pink from the cold. Harry wanted to reach out and touch them. He turned away, blushing, trying to shake those thoughts.

Malfoy stood and reached out to help Harry up. They brushed themselves off.

“That was close.” Malfoy said slyly. Harry raised a questioning eyebrow, but Malfoy only grinned and started heading back to Hogwarts.

*

Back in his quarters, Harry rummaged through his trunk to find Malfoy’s novels. He unwrapped the package and picked up the first book. _Dragonblood: the Tale of Abraxus Black._ Harry read. The hardback cover was dark green and featured an illustration of a small, blonde boy in Wizards robes, a large wand aimed at the face of a huge, grey dragon. Harry frowned and turned it over.

_Abraxus Black was just an ordinary wizard boy, raised by ordinary wizard parents in the ancient Castle Black. His life was normal – at least, as normal as a wizard’s life can be – until a dragon in disguise befriended his father. Forced to choose between his family and doing what’s right, Abraxus takes on a dragon._

_The first in the Dragonblood Trilogy._

Harry was surprised, to say the least. He had expected some uptight novel full of angst and aristocracy, not a children’s story. He noticed, too, that the novel was published under the name D.M. Black. Harry wondered why Malfoy had used his mother’s name.

Harry opened the book and turned to the dedication page.

_To my mother, for her courage._

Harry started reading. In truth, he was unsure what to expect. The tale followed a boy and his life as a magical child in an ancient castle that was suspiciously like Malfoy Manor. The protagonist felt somewhat familiar to Harry.

It only took two chapters for Harry to be enthralled. He couldn't put it down. It was a tale of friendship, bravery, facing evil. It ended on a cliff hanger, of course, so Harry picked up the second book.

This one had a deep bronze cover and an illustration of the same blond boy, a few years older, standing beside a tall, black-haired girl as a castle burned in the background. The dedication read:

_To P. Parkinson, for saving my life._

Harry finished that book, too, and was shocked to see the light of the early morning sun shining through his window. He cursed under his breath for having stayed up so late. It was a Saturday, at least, but Gryffindor was versing Ravenclaw today and Harry wouldn’t miss it.


	5. Lunch

The Quidditch match was dismal. The air was cold and biting and rain fell sporadically throughout the event. Gryffindor lost to Ravenclaw by almost 200 points after the snitch was caught.

Harry - sleep deprived, soaked to the bone, and disheartened by Gryffindor's thrashing - decided to skip the Great Hall for lunch. He changed into cosy trackpants, thick socks and his favourite Weasley Christmas sweater and headed down to the kitchens to get some food. He trudged through the entranceway and down the stairs, the comforting smell of hot food and chatter of house elves lifting his mood markedly. He rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks, wishing he'd chosen to dress properly. Because of course he would run into Malfoy down here.

Malfoy was sitting in a wooden chair by the bench in the back of the kitchen, munching on a sandwich and chatting animatedly to Pinky, who was practically swooning over his every word. His hair was tied back into a messy bun and he was wearing a linen shirt and grey trousers. It was the most casual look Harry had ever seen Malfoy sport. A book was open on his knee, forgotten in his conversation.

The two of them looked up at Harry when he entered. Malfoy stood abruptly, knocking the book to the floor. "Potter, I didn't expect to see you down here." Malfoy said, pulling at the ends of his shirt uncomfortably.

"Er, same?" Harry said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Pinky rushed over to him and took his hand, leading him to a seat beside Malfoy's. "Mr. Harry Potter, sir, you haven't taken your lunch down here in yonks! I would have prepared your favourite, sir, if I'd known." Pinky fussed over him, conjuring plates and utensils and pumpkin juice and piling his plate with sandwiches.

"I have to say, Potter, you've certainly seen better days." Malfoy said, staring pointedly at Harry's outfits.

"Speak for yourself." Harry rebuked. Malfoy rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his book, which was now open on the table beside him.

"So this is why you're never in the Great Hall." Harry observed. "Didn't have you pinned as a fan of house elves."

"I'll have you know that I have very fond memories of house elves from when I was a boy." Malfoy snapped his book shut. Harry, worried he had offended the man, looked over at him. Humour gleamed in Malfoy's eyes, though.

The ate in silence for a while before Harry spoke again. "I read your the first two books."

Malfoy stopped, sandwich lifted halfway to his mouth, and turned to face Harry. "What?"

"Your books." Harry said. "The Dragonblood series. You sent them to me."

Malfoy sat back in his chair. He was silent for a few moments, thoughtful. "What did you think?" he asked. His voice was cautious and sincere. It suddenly occurred to Harry that what he thought might actually _matter_ to Malfoy, which was certainly news to him.

"Honestly, I didn't sleep last night. Couldn't put it down. Would have probably finished the third one, too, if Quidditch wasn't on." Harry answered honestly. He could have sworn he heard Malfoy breathe a sigh of relief. 

"So I take it my olive branch has been accepted, then?" Malfoy said dryly, raising his eyebrows. It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes.

The two of them sat and talked about Malfoy's books more openly than Harry had ever expected. Malfoy told Harry tales of his interactions with muggles at university and how fond he became of muggle literature. He explained that he rented a room for a while in a house with a muggle woman and her young son. He had babysat the boy some nights in exchange for cheaper rent, and the two of them read fiction tales together. He spoke about how he was worried he'd be breaching the Statute of Secrecy when he told tales of magic to the boy, but the Aurors never came, so he figured it was OK in the context of fiction. He'd started writing his series after that and it had gained a following. Harry listened intently, keen to learn as much as he could about the new Malfoy while the man was being so forthcoming.

By the end of it, Harry was beaming. Malfoy had changed, but the parts of him that Harry had secretly admired in their schooldays had stayed the same. His ambition, his wit, his general prudency, his intelligence. They'd all passed the tests of time.

"Why did you decide to become an Auror?" Malfoy asked when he had finished, genuine curiosity and interest shown on his face. Harry told his tale, too. About how he didn't know what else to be, what else to do with his life. About how he felt like he owed society a debt. About how he didn't think he had the skills or talent for anything else, and that it was what people expected of him. Malfoy listened the entire time, nodding and frowning at parts of the story, never taking his eyes off Harry. It felt so _easy_ to talk to him about this - he'd never even spoken about it in so much detail with Ron and Hermione.

Pinky eventually grew impatient with them and shooed them from the kitchens, saying that the house elves needed to prepare for dinner. Malfoy looked at the watch on his wrist and cursed. 

"Sorry, Potter, I've got to run. Appointment. It was nice talking to you, though." He smiled at Harry and rushed away. Harry felt warm inside - having Malfoy's friendship showed a side of the man he'd never seen before, and if he was honest with himself, he really fucking liked it. 

*

Harry's spirits were lifted for the rest of the day. He took a nap, did some lesson planning, and ended up wondering to the kitchens at dinner time, too. He told himself that it was because he didn't feel like socialising in the Great Hall. 

Malfoy wasn't there, which was fine because that _definitely_ wasn't the reason Harry was keen to eat in the kitchen again. He ate his food and then returned to his Quarters to floo Ron and Hermione - he'd missed their floo call that week, too.

"Finally!" Ron cried as his head popped up in Harry's fireplace. "Haven't heard from you in ages, mate! Thought Malfoy might have knocked you off or something."

"Ron!" Hermione reprimanded in the background. "Hello, Harry, how are you?" She stuck her head in the flame.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good." Harry smiled. 

He chatted with them about his lessons and Hermione updated him about her current advocacy project. Ron spoke about some of his more daring cases as an Auror and the near-miss he'd had with Robards the week before. Eventually, the topic of conversation drifted.

"'Mione, do you know anything about people removing their magic?" Harry asked tentatively. 

Hermione grimaced. "Yes, Harry, I do. And I think I know why you're asking. Come over next week and I'll tell you about it." 

*

Harry's Monday classes seemed to drone on. His fourth years were learning protection spells and his seventh years were onto dark magic diagnostic charms. Harry usually enjoyed teaching those topics, but he felt off.

That night, he went to the library for Study Club. The usual crowd of students was there, but Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. 

"Where's Mal... Er, Professor Malfoy?" He asked the group. 

A fifth year Ravenclaw girl that Harry had forgotten the name of shrugged. "He wasn't in Muggle Studies today. I think he's ill."

Harry sat with some of his third years and coached them through their homework on Patronus charms, trying not to think about Malfoy. 

Later, he trudged up to the third floor window. Part of him was expecting to see Malfoy there, hoping to see if he was OK. No such luck. He stared out over the lake for hours before he returned to his room and fell into a fitful sleep. 

The next few days flew by and Harry hadn't seen or heard from Malfoy. He tried not to think too much about it, really, he did, but he did think it was strange.

On Wednesday evening, Harry asked McGonagall for permission to pass through the Hogwarts apparition wards to visit Ron and Hermione. McGonagall had eyed him suspiciously and reluctantly agreed. Harry apparated three times to reach their cottage, not wanting to risk such a long haul in one go.

When he arrived, Ron burst through the front door and pulled him into a hug, beaming. It had only been two months since they'd last seen each other in person, but they'd spent every day together for years before Harry started working at Hogwarts. He missed Ron and Hermione terribly during the school year.

Ron led him into the warm living room. It was as overstuffed as ever, a mustard yellow couch pushed against the side wall and books and children's toys scatterred about the hardwood floors. Hermione had turned the space into somewhat of her personal library, lining almost every wall with bookshelves, save from the fireplace and couch. Back when Harry and Ron were Auror partners, they often consulted her collection for help with cases.

Harry heard a loud splash, a scream, and then the pitter-patter of little footsteps. A small, tanned, orange-haired toddler clad in Holyhead Harpies underwear ran into the room, leaping at Harry. 

"Uncle Harry!" She shouted, pulling at his hair. Harry hugged her and laughed. Hermione came rushing in after her, covered in suds from what was obviously a failed attempt at bath time. 

"Sorry, Harry." She said, sweeping her curls out of her face. She gave Harry a quick kiss on the forehead and then began trying to wrench Rose away from him. The girl protested, kicking and scrabbling to get away from her, and bolted into the other room, Hermione in hot pursuit.

"It's been a fucking madhouse here since Rose turned three. Terrible twos my arse!" Ron groaned, heading into the kitchen. Harry followed and leant against the counter as Ron worked through a pile of dishes. 

"Anyway, mate, let me finish up here and I'll take over from 'Mione. She wants to tell you stuff about magic reversal, right?" Ron said. 

"Yeah." Harry put on the kettle and pulled out three mugs.

When Rose was finally bathed and sitting happily on ground in the living room, reading a picture book, Ron and Hermione joined Harry at the kitchen table. Hermione dropped a stack of books in front of him. 

"Here's all the books I have about magic reversal." She said, taking a seat beside him and cupping her mug. 

"Er... can't you just tell me about it?" Harry eyed the books, pushing them to the side. 

"Yes, but I thought you might want to do a bit of extra reading. It's very complicated magic, Harry. I know you've taken an interest in Malfoy and so probably want to know how it works." She said, looking at Harry cautiously. Harry blushed furiously.

"We're friends!" He said defensively. Ron groaned and rolled his eyes, then shared a look with Hermione. What the fuck did that mean? 

"Anyway. Years ago, I heard through Luna who heard from Pansy Parkinson that Malfoy made the decision to renounce magic. It was almost immediately after the war, and apparently Pansy and Narcissa Malfoy had tried to talk him out of it but he was set on the idea.

Basically, magic reversal involves a series of very intricate spells and potions that subdue a person's magical core, making it easier to be removed. It's taken from a person's body by force, but the person has to fully consent to it, or else they'll die. Malfoy must have been serious about losing his magic, Harry, or the original procedure would have killed him." Hermione explained. Harry frowned, considering this. Why had Malfoy done that to himself? 

"Furthermore," Hermione continued, "the magical core needs to be held in a particular type of place, or else it fights to go back to the person it came from. Only, if it does make it's way back, it can't reenter them and eventually fizzles out. I've heard rumours that the Department of Mysteries stores them. Once a person has had their core removed, they have to go back for follow up treatments every six months."

Harry frowned. "Can it be reversed?"

"Only in exceptional circumstances, Harry. A person's true soulmate is the only person that can re-bind a magical core with its person."

So if Malfoy actually _wanted_ his magic back, he'd have to find his soulmate.

"I know what you're thinking, Harry, but I really don't think you should meddle with this."


	6. Meddlesome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos and comments!!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy Chapter 6: Meddlesome :)

Back at Hogwarts, Harry went straight to the quarters he knew to be Malfoy's and banged on the hardwood door. 

After a long moment, Malfoy answered. He was dressed in a deep green dressing gown and thick grey socks. His hair was tied at the base of neck, some strands falling across his face. He was drawn and more pale than usual, grey eyes pained as he nursed his stomach with his free hand. He looked ill, _really_ ill, and Harry briefly forgot why he was there, standing awkwardly in the doorway staring at the man before him. 

Eventually, Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Can I help you, Potter?" His voice was rough and scratchy.

"What the fuck happened to you?" 

"If waking me up in the middle of the night and cursing at me is your way of checking in, I'll forego this friendship right now, new beginnings be damned." Malfoy drawled. 

Harry stuttered awkwardly. Eventually, Malfoy sighed and opened the door wider, motioning for Harry to enter. 

Malfoy’s quarters were roughly the same size as Harry’s, but much neater. He had a sleek, grey sofa in the centre of the room with a dark mahogany coffee table before it, facing the fireplace. On the back wall, a neatly stacked bookcase that matched the table stood tall, two deep blue armchairs either side of it. Malfoy motioned as he moved into the kitchenette. Harry took a seat and looked around. Malfoy's literature degree was hung above his mantelpiece in a dark, wooden frame, signed and dated 2004 from a French university that Harry couldn't pronounce. Below it, on the mantel, was another frame. This one contained an enchanted photograph. It showed Malfoy with his arm around a tall, chic woman with straight, black hair and crimson lipstick. Harry recognised her as Pansy Parkinson. Pansy was laughing wholeheartedly while Malfoy smiled slyly at the camera and winked before the photo reset and played again. Harry wondered if Pansy was Malfoy's girlfriend, and felt a pang in his chest.

Another photograph was next to that one. Muggle, this time. It showed Malfoy crouched in a garden with his sleeves rolled up, a small lavender plant in his hands, ready to be planted in the ground. A small boy crouched next to him with a similar plant, and Malfoy was smiling fondly at him, apparently teaching him how to garden. 

The rattling of mugs pulled Harry's attention from the photographs. Malfoy had returned with two cups of tea and handed one to Harry – sugar and milk, just how Harry liked it. "That's Phil," Malfoy explained, nodding in the direction of the garden photo Harry had been staring at. "The muggle boy I told you about."

"And Parkinson," Harry sipped his tea, trying not to sound conspicuous, "your..?"

"Best friend, yes." Malfoy replied, smiling. There was a glint in his eyes that Harry almost recognised as mischief. 

"Anyway, Potter, what's the real reason for this visit?" Malfoy changed the subject, sitting slowly into one of the armchairs. "Come to confess your undying love for me?" he jeered, sipping his tea nonchalantly. Harry tried not to blush. 

"I-I came to ask if you want your magic back." Harry said boldly. 

Malfoy laughed. When it became apparent to him that Harry was serious, his face became cold. 

"Any other unprovoked, deeply personal questions on your mind?" He asked dryly. 

"Malfoy, I want to help you. I've been learning about magic reversal and it seems really fucked up. It’s beyond me why you would _choose_ that for yourself, but since you have, let me help." 

Malfoy sighed deeply and rubbed at his temples with long, pale fingers. "Believe it or not, Potter, I don’t _need_ your help. When I made this decision, I knew the cost. I relinquished my magic knowing that I might one day regret it. There's nothing to be done about it now." 

"So you do regret it?" Harry probed. 

Malfoy looked up at him, eyes unreadable, considering. After a long moment, he sighed. "I didn't at the start, but as you can see-" he motioned up and down at his body "-the follow up procedures take a toll. After a few years, I began to question whether I'd made the right choice. Always was a bit rash, as you know. Terribly inconvenient to adjust to life without magic when it's all you've ever known. Figured it might have blown my chances of ever fully reintegrating back into magical society, too.”

“Malfoy, I don’t understand. Why put yourself through this? And why not try to fucking do something about it?”

His face turned stony. “It’s complicated, Potter.”

“It’s not.” Harry said stubbornly.

“And what the fuck would you know?” Malfoy raised his eyebrows.

“Look, all we have to do is find your soulmate and get them to put it back, or whatever. How hard can that be?”

Malfoy laughed again. There was no humour in it. “Granger must have helped you with this one, then. Flattered that the Golden Trio have been wasting their time talking about _my_ life decisions _.”_ His voice was cold.

Harry wasn’t messing around. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Malfoy’s eyes locked on Harry’s and Harry took the challenge, not breaking the contact. Eventually, after a final glare, Malfoy stood and motioned to the door. “Please, Potter. Get your meddlesome, Gryffindor arse the fuck out of my rooms.”

*

The next day, Harry whizzed through his classes and had tea with Neville before making his way to Study Club, ready to show Malfoy he wasn’t backing down on this.

When Harry got to the library, he looked around incredulously. The round table that the study group had used as their impromptu headquarters was _gone._ Just removed entirely, no trace of it ever having been there. That fucking git.

A quick search of the muggle studies rooms and a few other empty classes proved fruitless. Harry huffed and gave up. Fortunately, he knew where to catch Malfoy, at least at mealtimes.

After a restless night’s sleep, he trudged down to the kitchens, bright and early, to beat Malfoy to it. Pinky fussed about him being there during breakfast preparations, looking harassed. Harry apologised awkwardly and tried not to get in the way, making himself scarce in the back corner of the room. He knew Malfoy would come eventually. 

But the breakfast service came and went and Harry was onto his fourth bowl of cereal, staring intently at the entranceway, when a silvery tabby cat interrupted his thoughts.

“Mr. Potter, in case you have forgotten, you are a _professor at Hogwarts._ Pinky has alerted me that you’ve been huddled away in the kitchen for _hours_ for reasons unbeknownst to everyone. Meanwhile, your fifth year students have been wreaking havoc on the Quidditch pitch in your unexplained absence. If you aren’t in class, students in tow, in the next ten minutes, I will be forced to put you on a performance review plan.” McGonagall’s irritated voice spoke through her Patronus. Harry cursed loudly. He’d forgotten it was Friday.

After a truly memorable berating from Madam Hooch, Harry was in his classroom with a group of very muddy, dishevelled fifth years who were about as interested in learning about how potions can be used to counteract some curses as Harry was teaching it.

*

A week had passed and Harry hadn’t been able to catch Malfoy, even for a moment. The man had stopped eating in the kitchens and had moved Study Club to fuck knows where. He had also stopped going to the third floor at night. When they saw each other in hallways, Malfoy would turn and walk in the other direction.

Harry was having a lot of _feelings_ about the whole thing, and spent more time than he’d care to admit replaying their last conversation and questioning whether it was worth jeopardizing the man’s friendship. Maybe Malfoy _wanted_ to live without magic. Who was Harry to get involved, anyway?

More pressing matters were at hand for Harry, though, because it was the 31st of October. Each day leading up to it had shot Harry's nerves so terribly that he felt like he'd welcome the sweet relief of death. He was irritable, miserable, and he hadn't sleep for two days. He wrote an owl to McGonagall saying that he wouldn't be able to teach his classes that day. She replied, shortly, with: 

_Professor Potter,_

_Obviously._

_Kindly,_

_Minerva McGonagall._

Harry spent the day in bed and skipped the festivities. Ron and Hermione sent him a wreath of Christmas roses, as they had every year since he and Hermione had first visited his parents' grave in Godrics Hollow. Attached was a picture that Rose had drawn of herself holding his hand, Ron and Hermione beside them, with a messy word that resembled 'family' scrawled on top. He stuck it on his fridge fondly. Ron and Hermione knew not to try to call him today, and he knew it was better that he didn't call them, either. He was a right prick on Halloween and he knew it. 

The weather was better than expected, though, which was a silver lining. The air was bitingly cold and the ground was frosty, but the sun shone in the sky nonetheless. He walked circles around the grounds a few times and then found a place to settle, staring out over the horizon. He looked at the pictures he had of his parents, and of all those who he'd lost during the war. His mind healer had once suggested that he use the day as a day of general mourning, so he did.

When the sun was setting, Harry returned to his rooms to change into something warmer. He was surprised to see another package waiting for him in his living room. It was a bouquet of beautiful, elegant death lilies and a huge block of chocolate. There wasn't a note, just a small gift tag that read: _to HP, from DM._ Malfoy had sent him flowers. Who was this man? Harry found himself asking again. For reasons he couldn't really pinpoint, the gift from Malfoy lifted his spirits. 

The sun hung low in the sky when Harry visited Hagrid, who'd baked for him. Hagrid was kind enough not to bring it up. The man just hugged him, sat him down and pushed a ginormous piece of chocolate cake and mug of tea in Harry's direction before busying himself caring for his houseplants. 

"Oh, 'arry, almost forgot!" Hagrid called when Harry finished his cake. "The Abraxans are teens now. Age quick, they do. Thought you might want to give them a ride before they get to big."

Harry beamed. He and Hagrid made their way out into the field beyond Hagrid's house, and sure enough, a group of regular-sized, winged horses bucked and played. They were beautiful. Harry approached one and gained it's trust before climbing onto its back. "That ones named Mini," Hagrid said. "She's the smallest of the bunch." 

He and Mini soared through the sky, dipping and diving, and Harry laughed. It reminded him of the first time he'd ever ridden Buckbeak, or his first time on a broom.

From above, Harry could see the glow of a candle against the twilight. Frowning, he used the reins to steer a reluctant Mini to a halt, approaching the flickering light. When he got closer, he saw unmistakeable, silvery hair, glowing in the moonlight. 

Harry landed with a thud and Malfoy looked up in surprise. The man was clad in a Slythern scarf, beanie and gloves and a long, fur-lined coat with jeans and gumboots. He was sitting on a plaid picnic blanket, facing the Black Lake, using the light of a single candle and the setting sun to illuminate the parchment in his lap. 

"Potter, where the fuck did you get an Abraxan winged horse?" He let out a shocked laugh. 

Harry shrugged, tying Mini's reigns to a tree. "Hagrid." 

"She's beautiful." Malfoy said in awe. He approached Mini cautiously, removing his glove and levelling his hand at her eyeline for her to inspect. She leaned forward and he pat her, chuckling.

"What're you doing out here?" Harry asked, "it's freezing." He sat down on the blanket. 

"Writing." Malfoy said. "Since I've been banished from my third floor windowsill, I've been using this view as my inspiration instead." He motioned out across the lake. 

" _My_ windowsill," Harry corrected, "and you haven't been banished from anything." 

"Oh, is that so?" Malfoy took a seat beside Harry. 

" _You're_ the one that's been avoiding _me."_ Harry said nonchalantly. 

"Didn't want to upset you," Malfoy said easily, humour gleaming in his eyes. "I know how fragile your ego is when it comes to people not accepting your help."

Harry scoffed, and laughed. He didn't want to bring it up again, not today, anyway. He was contented to just _be_ with Malfoy, then. 

The two of them watched the sun until the sky was dark. Malfoy pointed out the constellations that replaced it, tracing them in the air was his finger. Harry listened, watching the man in barely concealed wonder. 

"That's the Draco Constellation." Malfoy said, pointing up. "It's Latin for dragon." 

"Is that how you were named?" Harry asked. He traced the constellation Malfoy had pointed out in the dirt beside him. Malfoy nodded, a fond, reminiscent smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

"Hm." Harry murmured thoughtfully. "Draco." He tested the word. He liked how it felt, to say Draco's name. He liked it's origins, too. 

The other man looked at Harry in surprise. "Yes." He said, sounding astonished. Harry looked at him and beamed. 


	7. Last Defences

After that night, it was easy for Harry and Draco to fall back into their respective routines. They went back to greeting each other in hallways and just generally _existing_ alongside each other, on old wooden chairs in a bustling kitchen or a brick windowsill on the third floor. Harry was also welcomed back to Study Club, which - to Harry's shock - had been moved to the DADA training room. When Harry glared at Draco, Draco shrugged and said "figured it would be the last place you would suspect." He wasn't wrong. Harry found himself pondering how well the other man must _know_ him, to think of hiding in plain sight like that. 

As the Christmas break approached, things were busy at Hogwarts. Harry had his hands full with his classes and the extra tasks McGonagall assigned him after the kitchen incident. He planned to spend Christmas week with Ron and Hermione, though, which he looked forward to. In the meantime, he tried not to fixate on the business with Draco's magic - he was treading carefully. He knew Draco's patience with him would wear thin if he kept bringing it up. He needed to wait for the opportune moment. 

*

"Story!" Rose called suddenly. It was Christmas Eve and Harry was playing a game of wizards chess with Ron while Rose rummaged through his trunk beside them. They were sat in front of the fire in Ron and Hermione's living room, steaming hot chocolates and a tin of Molly's shortbread biscuits beside them. Hermione was sitting on the couch, dictating quietly to a charmed quill about her current work project as she read from a large file. Harry looked up to see that Rose was standing in his trunk, his clothes strewn about around her. She was holding a gold-covered book out to Harry. He looked at the illustration on the front. It featured a teenaged wizard with blood on his face, a war being fought behind him. Harry had totally forgotten about Draco's series. He made a mental note to read it later and scooped Rose up, leading her to one of the bookcases to choose a more age-appropriate story. He read to her until she fell asleep. 

That night, when Harry was alone on the couch that Hermione had transfigured into a bed for him, he fished the book out from his trunk again. He ran his fingers across spine, where _D.M Black_ was printed, before flipping it over. 

_Abraxas Black fights a battle he was never made for in a war that was destined to tear apart the very structure of his world. The final tale in the Dragonblood Trilogy._

Harry felt excitement ripple through him as he read, ready to see the series through. He turned to the dedication page. 

_To H. Potter and H. Granger, for my redemption._

Harry was stunned. He re-read it until his eyes hurt. Redemption? Harry had spoken a few honest words at his trial, but surely that wasn't worthy of a book dedication. Did Draco really think so highly of him? 

He tried to push those thoughts aside and started reading.

By the end of it, Harry was in tears. The story told was not unlike the war he and Draco had fought, once. Harry thought vaguely about the paradoxes of war as entertainment in fiction. Abraxas, the protagonist, had made a snap decision in the final moments that changed the course of his life forever, choosing the course of action he felt was right over that which his family had dictated to him. Harry wondered if Draco still thought about his own actions in the war and the choices he made in the end. 

After that, Harry slept easily, feeling comforted by the warmth of the fire and the completion of Draco's books. He dreamt of dragons and blonde-haired schoolboys. 

*

Christmas at the Burrow was as wonderful as ever. Harry caught up with all the Weasleys he hadn't seen since the Christmas before and listened to Bill's tales of dragons and Ginny's gossip about the other Holyhead Harpies players. 

By the time he returned to school, he felt light-hearted and content.

*

“I finished your series.” Harry said. He and Draco were sitting on the floor in Draco's loungeroom with their backs propped up against the sofa, lesson plans scattered across the table. They had stayed in the DADA rooms after Study Club, long after the students had left, working together on their curriculums. When it started to grow too cold for comfort, they relocated to Draco's rooms. 

Draco didn't look up but his cheeks heated markedly. His quill stopped writing. "What did you think?" 

"I loved it. Bit of a shit dedication, though." Harry teased. Draco threw the quill at him. 

"When I wrote it, I never suspected that an opportunity for you or Granger to read it would ever arise, so I figured my dignity was safe. Please, Potter, don't make this any worse for me than it already is. A great deal of pride was swallowed when I sent you those books." He motioned dramatically. 

Harry laughed and the two fell into a comfortable silence. Draco resumed his writing and Harry cast warming charms over their teas. Was this the opportune moment Harry had waited for? "I've been meaning to ask..." he started tentatively. 

Draco looked over at him, eyes questioning.

“Have you given anymore thought to what I said. Y'know, about finding your soulmate, getting your magic back, etcetera.” Harry side eyed him. Draco sighed. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Harry. Are we ever going to get past this? Or, perhaps the more important question, are you _completely incapable_ of getting past a few months of companionship without meddling in your friends lives?” Draco pushed his parchment away from him and pulled his knees close to his chest, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s not what I’m doing.” Harry said incredulously. Draco turned to face him. His face was tentative, eyes cool.

“There are parts of this you can’t find in those books Granger gave you, Harry. Things you don’t understand and things that I don’t particularly feel like sharing.” He frowned. Harry let out a frustrated groan, regretting having told Draco previously that he was reading about magic reversal. 

Draco stood and started moving away, crossing his arms over his chest. “Drop it.” His voice was growing colder, eyes distant. Harry knew he was hitting a nerve, here. 

“Not unless you can look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you don’t want your magic back.” Harry was defiant, serious now. He stood, too, facing Draco. Draco glared, and then turned to walk away. Without thinking, Harry reached out and grabbed his arm, stepping towards him. Draco didn’t resist – he turned, and he was so close to Harry that his breath hitched. For a moment, all Harry could do was stare up into his steely grey eyes. 

“Draco, let me help. Tell me what you know.” Harry's voice was low. He tried to ignore the heat he felt at their proximity. Draco snatched his arm out of Harry’s grasp, but didn’t move away. He looked down into Harry’s face, considering him.

“The Unspeakables warned me before the reversal process. They called it the magical core's last defence, I believe. It’s rare, but it’s powerful and compelling enough that people have changed their minds at the last minute.” He paused. “In those last moments, while the magical core is being taken from it's body, it shows you your soulmate. People have backed out, knowing that removing their core might ruin their chance of ever fulfilling that soul bound.”

“Draco, that’s excellent! We can-we can find them, ask them to help.” Harry said, mind racing with possibility. He moved back, away from the man, in his excitement. Draco’s eyes were unreadable.

“It’s not so simple, Harry. For the re-binding of one’s magical core to work, the soulmate that performs the procedure has to _truly_ love that person. The risk is death.”

Harry frowned. “That’s fine, we’ll just work at it until your soulmate falls for you.” He brainstormed.

Malfoy laughed then. It was cold and humourless. “Always such a beacon of hope. But let me assure you, Harry, it’s not possible.”

“It is! It doesn’t have to be so complicated. Unless – fuck, Draco, is your soulmate dead?” Harry’s eyes widened in horror. He ran a hand anxiously through his hair.

“God, I can’t handle much more of these dramatics. They aren’t _dead._ They will never love me – not truly, anyway – so I’m afraid it’s a lost cause.”

"Draco, what the fuck? Why are you so hellbent on keeping yourself away from happiness, from an _easy life_? You can't possibly know that your soulmate will never love you. That's rubbish." Harry was frustrated. Why was Malfoy _like this?_ He searched the man's face but, in that moment, it was like trying to find emotion in a brick. 

“And you can? Enlighten me, oh Chosen One.” Draco's voice was growing colder, eyes darker, with every word.

“Because I-“ Harry thought about it. “Honestly, I can’t imagine how anyone could really know you and _not_ end up loving you.” The moment the words left Harry’s mouth, he knew he felt them deeply. It hit him hard. He was, evidently, starting to love this man. Harry Potter was _falling for_ Draco Malfoy.

Draco’s eyes were wide with shock. "You don't-you don't fucking know me." He spluttered.

Harry had had enough. It was a longshot and he knew it, but in that moment, he couldn’t stop himself. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his hand around the back of Draco’s neck, pulling him close until their faces were level. His skin was soft and warm against Harry’s hand, his breath hot against his lips. Harry leant forward again until their lips were so close he could almost taste him.

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity to Harry. He ached for Draco to make the next move. He felt like he’d never wanted anything more. Draco frowned and let out a shaky breath. And then his hand moved into Harry's hair, gripping his head, and the contact felt like electricity. Draco kissed him, and Harry kissed back as though his life depended on it, closing as much space as he physically could between them. Draco’s free hand cupped Harry's jaw, and he kissed him easily. Harry's lips were malleable against Draco's mouth, opening obediently for him. Draco's tongue moved slowly. Harry gripped Draco's neck tighter. His free hand moved to Draco's hip, almost frantically, and he hooked his finger in the other man's belt loop, pulling him closer. 

When Draco pulled away, Harry felt like all the warmth had left his body.

“Fucking hell, Harry.” Draco breathed.

“What?” Harry said distractedly, still holding him. His mouth moved to Draco's cheeks, to his neck. He kissed everything that was in his reach at such close proximity, wanting to taste every part of him, to _know_ every inch of his body. 

Draco groaned, his breath quick. “You don’t know me, Harry.”

“I’ve known you for seventeen years," Harry murmured against him, "if that’s not satisfactory, stop making it so fucking difficult for me to get to know you now.” Their lips met again and Harry kissed him until his mouth ached. 


	8. Sheer Will Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to everyone for the comments, kudos and bookmarks! Hope you enjoy Chapter 8: Sheer Will Alone :)  
> More to come!
> 
> CW: Scenes of PTSD - nightmares

Harry woke to the sound of screaming. His eyes flew open in a panic and he looked around him. Silk silver sheets, dark walls, dark floorboards, where... And then his hand collided with cold, sweaty skin, and he turned. Draco was in bed beside him - Draco's room, he remembered. But something was wrong. Draco was crying out in his sleep, his face contorted. Slivers of moonlight illuminated the man's body. His hands were clawing at his chest, tracing deep scars.

"Draco, wake up, it's a nightmare." Harry said. He wanted to reach out and hold the man but he was scared Draco might hurt himself. "Draco, please." Draco's screams turned to whimpers. Harry reached out tentatively and stroked his hair. It was soaked with sweat. He moved closer to the man as the whimpers turned to sobs and took him into his arms. 

"You're dying." Draco whispered. 

"It's just a nightmare. I'm not dying, I promise." Harry said softly. 

"Now I'm just dreaming." He nestled against Harry's chest, his body shaking. After a few moments, his breathing steadied. Harry felt his eyelids droop, and drifted back to sleep. 

When Harry woke again, sunlight was streaming through sheer curtains, a light breeze circling the room. He reached out to his left but only felt sheets. "Draco?" He called, sitting up. No response. He got up and pulled on his boxers, moving into the loungeroom. No Draco there, either. There was a note on the table, though. 

_Thank you for last night._

_Draco_

Harry frowned. He cast a tempus charm and cursed. Late to class again, apparently. He pulled on the same clothes he'd been wearing the night before, cast a cleaning charm over himself, and went to teach his third years. 

Late in the day, he sent Draco an owl: 

_Skip study club tonight?_

Draco's response came quickly. 

_You wish, Potter._

Harry got ready for Study Club, undeterred by Draco's rejection. He spent most of the session trying to catch Draco's eye and watching him demonstrate Patronus charms with his hands and help first years with their essays. Harry was, admittedly, a bit useless, eager to be alone with Draco again. 

As soon as the last students had filed out, he approached Draco and took him into his arms. 

"Harry, I really think you should stay away from me." Draco said nonchalantly, packing his belongings away. 

"No chance." Harry murmured against the back of Draco's neck. "We didn't finish our conversation last night. You... distracted me."

Draco's body tensed. "I'm not the distracting one." He said slyly. 

"You don't... regret it, do you? If you do it's okay, I-" Harry said awkwardly. 

Draco laughed. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry." He turned and cupped Harry's face, kissing him deeply.

*

That night, Harry convinced Hagrid to lend him one of the Abraxans to take Draco flying. Draco had mentioned that he couldn't fly a broom since he relinquished his magic, and Harry wanted to share that with him. Draco held onto his back and cried and laughed as they soared through the night air. They ended up on the Quidditch pitch, laying beside each other, holding hands and looking up at the constellations.

"Draco, I know you haven't told me everything. About your magic." Harry said.

Draco sighed. "I've been selfish, Harry. I couldn't resist this opportunity to just _be_ with you. You made it so easy... so easy for my defences to fall, for me to let you in. You're remarkable."

Harry propped himself up on his arm and peered down into Draco's face. Teary grey eyes met his. "Draco, please."

"I'm going to do whatever I have to do to protect you, Harry. If it's the one good thing I do in all my life." Draco looked serious.

Harry laughed. "In case you hadn't noticed, I have a war and half a decade of Auror training behind me. I'm quite capable of protecting myself. Plus, I'm a Hogwarts Professor - not exactly a risky profession nowadays." 

Draco smiled up and him. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I need you to trust that when the timing's right, I'll tell you everything."

Reluctantly, Harry nodded.

*

The next morning, Harry woke in his own bed, where he had fallen asleep with Draco the night before. Draco was gone again. Harry grumbled, wanting the opportunity to wake up next to the man he couldn't get out of his head. Harry read the note that was left on the pillow beside him: 

_Harry,_

_I have some business to attend to. I'll see you soon._

_Draco_

Harry frowned. Had Draco gone somewhere?

He finished his classes and, as expected, Draco wasn't at Study Club that night.

* 

Almost two weeks had passed without a word from Draco. Harry had tried to owl him to no avail. None of the students or the other professors knew where he had gone, either, so Harry turned to McGonagall. He trudged up her steps and again let himself into her office without knocking. 

"Where is he?" Harry asked. 

"I really ought to change my password." McGonagall grumbled, barely looking up at him from the large stack of parchments on her desk. "Professor Malfoy told me you might come asking after him. I'm afraid I can't disclose any confidential information about teaching staff. He's gone away on business. I expect he'll tell you himself if there is something he would like you to know." 

Harry was frustrated, but he knew McGonagall was as stubborn as a brick, so arguing would get him nowhere. 

Where would Draco have gone? What was he up to? 

*

"Harry! Harry wake up!" Harry was torn from his slumber. Familiar hands were gripping his shoulders, shaking him awake. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but wiry curls, blinding his vision. He recognised them instantly.

"Hermione?! What the..." Harry sat up, causing Hermione to step away from him, and looked around. He was in his rooms at Hogwarts. How the fuck had Hermione got there? 

"Sorry about the intrusion, mate, but we don't have much time. So if you could y'know, move it along." Harry whipped his head around to see Ron standing on his other side, wand illuminated. When Harry opened his mouth to argue, Hermione rolled her eyes and grabbed him. Harry felt the sickening pull of Apparation tug at his naval, and he landed in the entranceway of Ron and Hermione's house. 

"Hermione, what the actual fuck?" Harry looked around incredulously. What was going on? 

"Sorry, Harry. We'll explain everything. Please come sit and have some tea." Hermione shoved some clothes into his arms and then moved towards the living room. Harry got the horrible feeling that something was wrong. He followed Hermione and almost fell over in shock. There, in _Ron and Hermione's living room,_ was Draco. He was pacing restlessly, running his hands through his hair. 

"Draco? What are you-" At Harry's voice, Draco whipped his hand around and moved towards him, pulling him into a hug. 

"I promise I'll explain, Harry. Just trust us." 

Absolutely bewildered by the current situation, Harry dressed as Draco and Hermione murmured to each other. He noticed that they were fully dressed in jeans and thick coats. He sat down on the couch and Hermione handed him a cup of tea. Before he could ask any questions, Draco started talking. 

"This isn't going to be easy to hear, Harry, but I need you to listen." Draco watched his face cautiously. Harry snapped his mouth shut, which he realised had been hanging open, and frowned.

"I saw you die, Harry. My magical core showed me my soulmate - you, Harry Potter, of all people - and I went through with it anyway. At the time, I thought there was no way that I'd ever fulfil that soul bound, magic or not. I thought there'd be no chance of Harry Potter loving me, us being together, the soul bound coming true, so I stuck to my guns. But my core retaliated to that, as if in spite, and it showed me your death. By then it was too late - they couldn't put it back, so I tried to stay away from you, waiting until a time came where I might be able to _help_ , somehow. For 10 years, Harry. I read every article, every memoir posted in your name, all the public Auror records. Everything and anything that might give me some context so that when the time came I could _do something_ to stop your death from happening. As it turns out, we're soulmates. And-and it's all a bit fucked up, Harry, because if we don't do something, you're going to die. What you need to know is that I love you and I'm going to do everything I can to stop that from happening." His face was serious, resolved. 

Harry's heart had dropped into his stomach. He looked over at Hermione, who looked forlorn. He didn't know what to think, how to react, which part to respond to... "You love me?" 

Draco laughed roughly. "That's not the takeaway, here. Of course I love you. I loved you when I was a teenager. I've read your life story told by dozens of people who don't even _know_ you. I've followed you through the papers all these years. I've seen your face in my head, Harry, _every day_ for as long as I can remember."

"Draco, I don't understand." Harry's mind was racing. What the fuck was happening? 

"Harry, my magical core showed me _you_ , my soulmate, and when that wasn't enough to stop me, when my magic was almost completely gone, it showed me _your death._ And there's been nothing I can do about it except watch and hope that _sheer will alone_ is enough to save you. But now we're out of time. I don't know how it's possible, but after that first night... after you kissed me, I saw the vision again, in a nightmare. Some part of me just _knew_ that it was now or never. I had to act."

Harry felt dazed, like he'd been hit with a stunner. "How do I... how do I die?"

Draco shook his head, eyes pained and pleading.

Harry suddenly snapped his head up and looked at Hermione. "What do you know about this?" 

"I didn't know about it, Harry. Malfoy showed up here two weeks ago - he'd found our address in your apartments. He told us everything about the vision predicting your death so we could formulate a plan to save your life." Hermione explained. "We didn't tell you sooner because we were worried involving you might somehow set it all in motion. But now we're at an impasse, Harry, because you're the only one who can get Malfoy's magic back. We've figured out everything we can, but we can't move any further without seeing the vision for ourselves and trying to piece it together from there..." Hermione spoke cautiously. She edged her chair closer to Harry and took his hands into her own. "Harry, I know you're not going to like this, but we can't risk telling you everything. It's risky enough that we've even told you about the vision and the soulbound. You know how prophecies work - more often than not, they're self-fulfilling. We're only involving you now to restore Malfoy's magic, and then you have to let us go on without you, until we can figure it all out."

Harry snatched his hands away from her and stood, crossing his arms across his chest. "No fucking chance."

"Please, Harry, you need to trust us. We can't tell you anything about how you die - it's too risky. We know that you're safe at Hogwarts. Once you've gotten Malfoy's magic back, you have to go back there and stay there until we can work out a safe way to involve you." Hermione stood, too. They stared defiantly at each other. Hermione's fierce brown eyes were absolute.

There was no way Harry was going to let his _soulmate_ and his best friends fight for him like this without him. Details and risk of death be damned, Harry was going to be there. He looked between the both of them for what felt like a long time. Draco's eyes were pleading, Hermione's determined. Slowly, Harry shook his head in false agreement. He knew he'd have to lie to them for now at least. He couldn't stand by and watch them put themselves in danger for his sake. Harry would make his own plan. 


End file.
